Murder by Mocha

“Grandma says you should come into the hallway. She’s hiding by the cloakroom.”

“Why is she hiding?”

“She’s spying on a couple of women. She says you need to hear what they’re talking about.”

“What women?”

“Grandma says one of them is Alicia Bower and the other is . . . well, I don’t know who she is, but she’s not wearing clothes.”

“What did you say?”

“She’s not wearing—”

“She’s naked?”

“Not exactly. She’s just not . . . You know what, Mom? It’s hard to explain. I think you should see for yourself.”

“You know what? So do I.”

Fifteen

I found Madame, just as Joy promised, hiding in the corridor between our favorite pair of faux-marble columns.

“. . . and the last thing you’re going to do,” Alicia Bower’s voice warned from somewhere nearby, “is enter this party dressed like that.”

“Who is Alicia arguing with?” I whispered in Madame’s ear.

She put a finger to her lips. “Maya Lansing. The Sister who had her launch canceled.”

Stepping closer, I saw Alicia Bower standing just inside the cloakroom. Still wearing her dripping trench, she seemed oblivious to the small puddles forming at her feet. Her attention was riveted on the woman going toe to toe with her.

Honed and toned, the Health and Fitness diva looked like a Latina Annie Lennox with a body so sculpted she could have been carved from seamless marble. Given Maya Lansing’s cocoa-brown complexion (compared to Alicia’s chalky-vanilla coloring) and her spiky platinum hair (to Alicia’s dark flapper cut), the two might have been photo negatives of each other if it weren’t for their vast differences in build. Ounce for ounce, the whole thing struck me as a real David and Goliath showdown, a single-shot espresso versus King Kong Depth Charge— especially with the six-inch Lady Gaga heel-less platforms on Maya’s toes.

In the first few seconds, I couldn’t see why Alicia objected to Maya’s outfit. Okay, the skirt was daring—a swath of black silk slit all the way up both sides to show off the woman’s long, muscular legs. But the form-fitting bodice of Chantilly lace appeared conservative enough with its high neckline. Even the sleeves were long, covering part of her hands.

Then it hit me with a silent gasp. The skirt wasn’t the issue. Everything above it was: the bodice, the neckline, even the sleeves of “Chantilly lace” were no more than a trompe l’oeil of elaborately applied body paint!

“Very daring,” Madame whispered, almost admiringly. “Reminds me of Josephine Baker in Princess Tam-Tam.”

“Who?”

“The Gaga of the thirties, dear. When I was a little girl in Paris, her half-nude dance was all the rage.” Madame gave a little shake.

“Okay,” I said. “Other than the Tam-Tam dance, what did I miss?”

“Now let’s see . . .” Madame began. “Alicia ran out to the Garden for some reason. When she came back in, she saw Maya coming off the elevator with an escort and demanded they have a word in private.”

Maya came in with an escort. I glanced around. “Where’s the escort?”

“She sent him into the party.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

“No, just a glimpse from the back—a dark suit with some sort of naval cap on his head.”

“Naval? Like the U.S. Navy?”

“I didn’t see. There were other late arrivals in the elevator, and he disappeared in the crowd.”

I filed that away. “What happened next?”

“Maya turned on Alicia, accusing her of undermining her product launch. Alicia retorted that Maya’s diet shakes and fat-burning pills were twenty years out of date for the market and Aphrodite agreed. Then Maya accused Alicia of not knowing what she was talking about because Maya was the one who’d built a worldwide fitness following on the curve of her oh-so-perfect butt—”

“Leave now, Maya!” Alicia’s voice was suddenly louder. “You should not be here.”

“I’m on the guest list, and I intend to show my support for my fellow Sister.”

“Don’t even try that crap with me. You wore that ridiculous getup to ruin my launch and embarrass us all. You’re pathetic!”

“Not even close,” Maya replied with surprising calm. “And I’ll tell you who’s pathetic and why . . .” She fired off a series of missteps Alicia supposedly made while bringing her Mocha Magic to market, and the biggest problem, in Maya’s view, was the “chosen spokeswoman for the product.”

“I don’t understand you,” Alicia said.

“Just answer me one question,” Maya demanded. “What is this Mocha Magic Coffee powder, anyway?”

The question appeared to rattle Alicia. Her vampiric pallor faded to specter white. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not a food or wine. It’s not a spice,” Maya challenged. “Your sex juice is the kind of lifestyle product that belongs in my Health and Fitness temple.”

“Are you mad? Mocha Magic is my creation!”

“You came up with the stuff, and that’s great. But who would do a better job of selling your product for the enrichment of Aphrodite and our entire community? Me”— Maya ran her French-tipped fingers along her body as if she were displaying the grand prize on The Price Is Right—“or a shriveled old harpy like you?”

“I’d like to strangle you with my bare hands!”

“Go for it.”

Body stiffening with rage, Alicia appeared ready to lunge at Maya when I interrupted them. I hadn’t meant to. One of my shoulders was flush against the fiberglass column, and I’d leaned forward enough to tip the thing over.

Ka-BOOM!

Woops. The column looked solid, but marble it wasn’t. (I could almost hear Tucker’s voice: Stagecraft, Clare, stagecraft!) The pillar hit the floor, then bounced and rolled, thundering along the mock stone until it reached the end of its electric cord. That’s when the fluorescent light inside exploded with an oh-so-subtle flash.

In the silence that followed, Madame sighed. “It appears the jig is up.”

Alicia and Maya were now gawking at us.

“Clare?” Alicia rasped. “Madame Dubois?”

“Friends of yours, Bower?” Maya snapped. “I can mess them up, too—starting with the little waitress.” She strode toward me, Gaga platforms clomping like Frankenstein footwear.

Wonderful. I hadn’t been in a real girl-fight for ages. Too late now. Like Tucker tried to warn Nancy, this was one exciting town, but when the coaster went south, it was time to hold on.

Standing my ground, I balled my hands and sent Maya the hardest stare in my arsenal. Yeah, she was bigger, but I was more balanced, and in my experience, with just the right push all giants fell.

Suddenly, the fitness queen halted. Noting the look in my eyes, she put French tips to slim hips, then altered her target.